


The Void, Spirits and Other Transitory Things

by blackdeer7, Lyaksandra



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/F, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-08
Updated: 2014-02-08
Packaged: 2018-01-11 15:56:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1174965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackdeer7/pseuds/blackdeer7, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyaksandra/pseuds/Lyaksandra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before the last stand in the war against the Reapers, Shepard promised Garrus she would meet him at The Bar. It is now time to make good on that promise. They laugh, they cry… Wait. That doesn’t actually happen. They reminisce, they see others they know, and one of them gets into some trouble. Pretty much the same as always, and that will never change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Void, Spirits and Other Transitory Things

**Author's Note:**

> This is a humorous story, and some might even call it a parody or a “crack fic”. That said, this is totally “tongue in cheek”, “not meant to be serious”, and could even be considered “ridiculous”… And I’m okay with that.
> 
> This is dedicated to all of those players—every Shepard—who let people live just to see what humor and craziness they would bring to the following game(s).
> 
> Side note: The beer mentioned in the story actually exists. I do not own them, but if you are of age and like a good tasting German Maibock or English Stout, I recommend them. 
> 
> To Lyaksandra, my beta reader. Thank you so very much for your corrections when grammar gets the best of me, your motivation when writing frustration attempts to divert me and your inspiration when my creativity needs a breath of fresh air and sunshine to flourish.

To most, the war with the Reapers was a mind-boggling, aggressive invasion that seemed impossible to suppress. To Commander Jane Shepard the war was seen in a much different light. It was an annoying incursion which necessitated a daily regimen of frustratingly sappy diplomacy, extensively gracious patience and, despite being a high profile Spectre, running petty errands for every Council and non-Council race before they agreed to become a coveted war asset. She was dedicated to the cause though, and in the end she gave her life to quell the Reaper threat. However, had anyone been privy to the war hero’s last thoughts, they would have been shocked to hear a very prolific, bitter monologue lamenting her unfulfilled bucket list which included seeing what Tali really looked like underneath that suit, kicking her clone’s ass out of the Normandy one more time, and firing a gun that shoots thresher maws.

So… after that fateful moment, as her mortal body exhaled its last breath, Shepard’s specter self was transported to a bar in an ethereal tropical paradise. Known simply as The Bar, the large outdoor cabana was a spectacular structure that took advantage of its idyllic location by having a simplistic design. The intricately woven thatched roof kept bar patrons shaded from the hot sun while the drapery walls controlled the wind and outdoor elements. Currently, the tan fabric was rolled up, which allowed a cool, salty breeze to pass through the structure. It also allowed patrons to enjoy the bar’s gorgeous location, nestled between a pristine ocean beach of white sand and a large affluent marina opening up to the vast expanse of clear blue sea. Semi-private booths outlined the main circular bar, which reminded Shepard of Chora’s Den… without the exotic dancers or club music.

As she made her way toward an empty stool at the bar, the Spectre noticed a familiar face. “Garrus!” she said, sitting down next to the Turian. “You’re drinking a beer?”

Garrus glanced to his left, acknowledged the human with a Turian version of a smile, then nodded enthusiastically. “It’s called Dead Guy Ale. Sounded appropriate.”

“But your dextro-amino-thingy?”

“I’m dead, Shepard. I don’t think I have anything to worry about now.” To punctuate his point, the Turian fished a pretzel from a dish full of them on the bar and ate it.

The Spectre looked thoughtful for a moment. “You’ve got a point.” Then she turned toward the Asari bartender who was waiting for her order. “I’ll take a pint of Black Death.”

Garrus chuckled. “That’s ominous.”

“You inspired me.”

After taking a careful and strategically nimble drink from his glass, making sure nothing spilled, Garrus said, “So… you made it.”

“Yeah… I guess Turian and human heaven are the same after all.”

“ ** _If_** this is heaven...” Garrus said skeptically.

As he scanned the bar for suspicious activity, the bartender placed a frosty pint of dark brown beer in front of the Spectre. Eying the beverage greedily, the human asked, “Even if it’s not, you’re still buying the first round though, right?”

The Turian ate another pretzel. “Well, somebody has to be responsible.”

Shepard watched as the bubbles in her pint bloomed and then settled in a frothy, mocha-colored swirl that brought the beer's flavors and aroma to life. “You know what I always wondered?” she mused, her right hand hovering next to her glass as her forefinger slowly traced its circular opening. She was savoring the moment of no responsibilities, a time when she could indulge in recreational drinking without the fear of a galactic cataclysm exploding around her.

“What?”

Raising the icy glass to her lips, the Spectre sighed in delight as the robust liquid slipped past her tongue and down her throat leaving a cool, flavorful path, hinting of chocolate and spice in its wake. “Why did my omni-tool’s translator always make you sound southern?”

“Southern?”

“On Earth. A region of Old United States. Accents there were highlighted with a unique drawl and hint of what we humans call twang.”

Garrus snorted which for a Turian sounded eerily… southern.

“Trust me, Vakarian, you have a drawl.”

Unable to refute the Spectre, Garrus shrugged his shoulders, then took another drink. “You know what I always wondered…”

“What?”

“Do you think you and I could have…?”

“Could have..?”

“You know…”

“Know what?”

“Shepard…” The Turian sounded both embarrassed and exasperated.

Then, it clicked into place for the Spectre. “You and me, Garrus? Together?” Strands of red hair fell into her eyes as she adamantly shook her head. “No way.”

“Why?” Garrus ate another pretzel. “Because you would have been jealous of my smoldering good looks?”

“Because I was involved with Liara.”

“Did the thought ever cross your mind?”

Shepard took a sip from her pint. “Nope.”

To get a better look at the human, the Turian leaned back on his stool. “Not even on your ‘break’? When she had you hacking terminals on Illium for old times’ sake?”

“Not even then.”

“Not once? Never? Never ever?”

The Spectre shook her head again. “You’re a commitment kind of guy, Garrus. At that point, the only thing I would have gone for was a ‘no strings attached’ fling.”

“So you _did_ think about it,” the Turian said, sounding smug.

Rolling her eyes in amusement, the red head scoffed, “Sure, if you consider a split second thought as ‘ _thinking_ about it’.’’

“Aren’t humans fond of saying ‘it’s not the quantity, it’s the quality’.”

“We lie a lot, too.” An impish grin played on the Spectre’s lips as took a sip from her pint. “Besides,” she said suggestively, “we both know you were only interested in _calibrating_ Tali’s suit.”

Garrus choked on the beer he was in the middle of swallowing. He opened his mouth to say something, but then reconsidered. He was certain that he’d just dig himself into a deeper hole.

Satisfied that she had outmaneuvered the Turian, the Spectre smiled brightly. Then, as she looked around the bar, curiosity got the best of her. “Anyone else make an appearance here?”

Garrus, still recovering from his unexpected embarrassment silently nibbled on another pretzel, but pointed a finger toward a booth in the corner of the bar.

Shepard recognized the occupants sitting at the table—Miranda, Jack, and Jacob. They were glaring angrily in her direction. Puzzled by their aggressive demeanor, she asked, “What’s their problem? Think I should go talk with them?”

The Turian coughed uncomfortably. “Um… no.”

“No? Why not”

“Because they’re upset with you?”

“With me? Why me?”

“They feel you didn’t spend enough time gathering allies and upgrading the Normandy before taking on the Reapers.”

“Upgrading the Normandy? How the hell would that have saved them?”

Garrus finished off his beer. “They seem to think the ship’s upgrades saved them before embarking on that little thing you’re so fond of calling ‘The Suicide Run’.”

“They what?! That’s insane! How the hell did they come up with that craziness?”

“I may have given them the idea.”

The Spectre glared at the Turian accusingly. “What?! Garrus?!”

“It made a lot of sense at the time. Apparently they thought so, too.”

“You've got to be kidding me! I kissed their asses the entire time they were on the Normandy! Shepard, save my sister! Shepard, kill my dad! Shepard, blow this up! And now they’re pissed because I didn't make the Normandy shinier and scan every stupid system for token assets?”

The Turian nodded. “That about sums it up.”

“That’s just… stupid!” the Spectre raged, repeating her adjective because she was both flummoxed and flustered by her old squad’s judgmental attitude. Irritated, she guzzled her drink, then slammed her empty glass on the bar. “To hell with them!”

Pointing out the obvious, Garrus said, “Shepard, this could be hell.”

“I don’t care!”

“Good job then,” Garrus quipped while flashing a Turian smile. “You've officially accomplished your goal.”

_“YOU ARE BACTERIA.”_

Almost jumping out of her stool, Shepard spun to her left where, outlined in red, a miniature hologram of the Reaper, Harbinger, appeared on the bar. “What the hell are _you_ doing here?”

_“SHEPARD, I ALWAYS SURVIVE.”_

Rolling her eyes, the Spectre scoffed, “Brilliant.”

_“YOUR DEATH IS ASSURED.”_

Shepard’s hand covered her face as her head shook in dumbfounded amazement. “I’m already dead, ya malfunctioning light bulb!”

_“YOU DO NOT YET COMPREHEND YOUR PLACE IN THINGS. YOU HAVE MERELY DELAYED THE INEVITABLE.”_

“I’m already dead! There’s nothing else to delay!” Shepard’s hand fell from her face, then she looked directly at Garrus as she pointed a finger at the Reaper’s hologram. “Do you hear him?”

_“_ _TURIAN; YOU ARE CONSIDERED...TOO PRIMITIVE.”_

Garrus picked a pretzel out of the bowl, then threw it at the hologram. “Now that’s just rude.” The pretzel passed through Harbinger’s image, bouncing off the bar and onto the floor.

_“I AM NOT RUDE. YOU ARE INSIGNIFICANT.”_

“What you are,” the Turian growled, “is a tiny holographic varren on a leash.” He grabbed another pretzel, positioning it to flick at the shimmering red image. “Hey, if I throw a big stick, will you go away?”

_“I AM NO LONGER SHACKLED BY THE ONE VOICE. WE ARE FREE. WE ARE MANY.”_

The Spectre grabbed her pint belatedly remembering it was empty. But then to her complete surprise, when her fingers wrapped around the glass, she noticed it had been automatically—and maybe magically—refilled. She happily took a long drink of the ice cold frothy brew. This had to be heaven. “So… let me get this straight. You’re no longer controlled by the Catalyst. None of you. Which means that you and all of your little Reaper friends are wandering around freely, each of you with your own personal agenda?”

_“YES.”_

From the corner of her eye, Shepard glanced at the hologram, then her gaze shifted back to the dark liquid in front of her. Her brow furrowed as though deep in thought, then she said, “I don’t even want to think about the metaphysical or theological logistics of you having a soul, but…” She turned, looking directly at the hologram. “Why the hell are you here?! Talking to me?! Go find some other human to harass!”

_“I SENSE YOUR WEAKNESS.”_

“What you sense is my annoyance!” Then the Spectre thought of an idea, her green eyes sparkling mischievously. Pointing her finger toward the corner booth, she said, “See that table over there? Go talk to them.”

As the hologram floated off, she raked her fingers roughly through her short-cropped red hair. “Can you believe that guy?”

Garrus’ pint had been magically refilled, too, so he took a drink. “It’s comforting to know some things don’t change.”

The human and Turian sat quietly and watched as the miniature version of Harbinger made its way over to the corner booth. A few seconds later Jack angrily barked “I will destroy you” then launched herself toward the hologram, sliding across the table with her arms outstretched like she intended to strangle it. Miranda and Jacob stood quickly as food and drink flew in every direction while Jack continued to swat at the hologram and spouted increasingly vulgar obscenities.

The Spectre smirked in satisfaction, then drank some of her beer savoring its sweet spicy flavor and smoky aftertaste. As her eyes panned across the room, she was surprised by how many familiar faces she saw. Friend and enemy alike. With fiery quickness, she reached for her gun then huffed in disgust when she remembered she didn’t have one. Nudging Garrus with her forearm, she nodded in the direction of the table overlooking the marina where Saren Arterius _,_ Tela Vasir and Nihlus Kryik sat **.** “You know,” she said, “two out of those three Spectres tried to kill me.”

“That's only because Nihlus didn't get to spend more time with you.”

“Why do I hang out with you?”

“Because you have unrequited romantic feelings for me.”

“You’re such an ass.”

“And you display those feelings with misdirected outbursts of verbal hostility,” Garrus said, a jovial glint in his eyes.

Shepard turned to look directly at the Turian, leveling a Thanix cannon glare in his direction. “You know what? I’m going to start blaming you for the war.”

“Me? How is it my fault?” Unfazed by the accusation, Garrus took a sip of his beer. “If anything, the fault lies with the Catalyst and its egomaniacal programming.”

“I didn’t say it was your fault,” the Spectre said mirthfully, “I said I was _blaming_ you.”

“It’s because of my good looks again, isn’t it?”

 “Just keep telling yourself that, Vakarian.”

After rolling her eyes rolled her eyes in amusement, the red-headed human continued to scan the bar taking note of recognizable people who seemed to be enjoying their afterlife. Kal’Reegar shared a table in a secluded corner with Dr. Chloe Michel. They were huddled close together, basking in what looked like a private moment. Until, that is, Kelly Chambers confidently settled down at their table and joined their intimate exchange.

Feeling nostalgic, Shepard said, “You know, we should toast to the living.”

Garrus sighed heavily, thinking of those that he missed. “That’s a good idea.”

Both the Spectre and the Turian raised their glasses in the air.

“To Zaeed,” Shepard began, “the Chuck Norris of our time.”

“Chuck who?”

“Twentieth century Earth icon. Credited for being a real badass. Tongue in cheek kind of thing.” Seeing Garrus’ confused expression, Shepard added, “I’ll explain later.”

The Turian nodded his head, then said, “To Tali’Zorah… I will miss those elevator rides.”

“And the shotgun.”

“Definitely the shotgun.”

The Spectre smiled, her eyes twinkling impishly as though recalling a good memory. “To Joker, Chakwas, Donnelly, and Daniels. Even when flying Cerberus colors, you made the Normandy feel like home.”

“While keeping it, and in the case of Dr. Chakwas, _us_ from falling apart.” As an afterthought, Garrus said, “We should probably include Cortez and Adams.”

After appearing to give the suggestion some thought, the Spectre agreed. “You’re right. Cortez and Adams, too.”

Garrus straightened his posture, then said, “To Wrex and Eve, the baby making machines of Tuchanka.”

“Can you even imagine how many diapers they’re going to have to change?”

“Krogan don’t use diapers, Shepard.”

“Oh… gross.” The Spectre shook her head to clear the unpleasant thoughts. After taking a deep, cleansing breath, she said, “To Kasumi Goto, may you always be one step ahead of the authorities and never run out of things to liberate.”

“Aw… that was nice, Shepard.”

“She deserves it.”

“To Samara,” Garrus said stoically, “you make the entire Turian Hierarchy seem relaxed.”

Shepard lifted her glass a little higher in the air. “To Liara… kind, thoughtful, intelligent, sexy… but enough about me, here’s to you.”

The Turian chuckled quietly. “To Vega… here's hoping no one believes you when you claim you defeated the Reapers all on your own. With your bare hands. Tied behind your back.”

Grinning broadly, the Spectre added another to their toast. “To Conrad Verner, now that I'm here and I don't see you around, may you have a long, long, long, long, LONG life.”

Garrus jovially slapped Shepard on the back with his free hand. “To Javik, the last Prothean standing.  Here’s hoping your cycle prepared you for all of the primitive Hanar zeal, and may your might be enough to enkindle many. ”

“To Aethyta, you had the best drink and the best stories, and Liara said you were the best father a girl could have.”

“Father?” The Turian looked perplexed. “The Asari bartender on Illium and the Citadel is Liara’s father?”

“You didn’t know?”

“No!”

Chagrinned, Shepard said, “Oh… well, don’t tell Liara I told you.”

Garrus shrugged his shoulders, then focused back on the task at hand. “To Major Kirrahe, may you always hold the line.”

“That _was_ a really good speech on Virmire, wasn’t it?”

“I found it inspiring.”

Sighing in contentment, the Spectre finished off the toast. “And to Admiral Hackett… Shepard out.”

Then, without further ado the human and Turian’s eyes locked onto each other, they nodded their heads and in unison took long swigs from their pints.

“I think we may have gotten a little irreverent on those last few toasts,” Garrus said after placing his glass back on the bar.

“We’re dead,” the Spectre snorted. “A little passive aggressive outburst is expected from time to time.”

“You’re probably right.”

Feeling better now that the living had been honored, the Spectre’s gaze once again wandered through the bar. She noticed a table on the uncovered patio overlooking the marina where Ashley Williams, Navigator Pressly and Corporal Jenkins were relaxing. The table’s umbrella blocked most of the sun, keeping the Alliance marines comfortable and cool. Along the far wall of the bar, Specialist Traynor sat at a vid table, apparently engaged in one of the strategy games she liked so much. Across from her was her opponent, Rana Thanoptis, the Asari neuroscientist. _“I wonder who’s analyzing who,”_ the Spectre thought as a knowing smirk played across her lips.

“Wait a minute!” she mumbled after spotting another human and Asari sharing a table. “Is that the Illusive Man?”

Garrus followed the Spectre’s line of sight, his gaze locking onto the pair. “I think it is.”

“And is that… holy shit… is that Benezia?!” Shepard stared, slack-jawed and befuddled at the Matriarch who was calmly sipping on a glass of wine.

“The Illusive Man may have been the driving force behind a pro-human organization, but we all read the Shadow Broker’s Dossier… he _liked_ Asari.”

“But Benezia?!” Shepard sputtered, clearly repulsed. “Ew… No… She’s like… my mother-in-law… Double ew…”

Garrus straightened his posture, then said in a sardonic, lecturing tone, “Mothers have needs too, Shepard.”

“Gah! Shut up!” The Spectre backhanded the Turian on the shoulder. “You’re going to make me sick.”

“Can you get sick here?”

“I don’t know.” Shepard buried her face in both of her hands. “But if you keep talking about… them… we’re going to find out real fast.”

Tilting his head in the direction of the table, Garrus said, “You know what this means, don’t you?”

The Spectre turned toward the Turian, looking somewhat squeamish with her hands covering her face and her eyes peering out from between her fingers. “Oh god, Garrus… please… I don’t want to puke.”

Raising his right hand, Garrus patted the human on her back consolingly. Then, he grinned. “I think we just proved that he who dies with the most toys is still dead.”

The Spectre sighed heavily, her hands dropping to her lap. “If I could kill him again, I would.” Immediately afterward an unexpectedly voice sounded out from behind her.

“That possibility seems highly unlikely, Shepard.”

Spinning around in her stool, the red head greeted the newcomer. “EDI?!” she said unable to hide the bafflement from her voice. “You're here?! But you're...”

“A machine,” EDI finished matter-of-factly, the sun reflecting off of her metallic surface.

Rubbing the back of her neck uncomfortably, the Spectre mumbled, “Um… yeah. But I guess I shouldn’t be all that surprised.” She pointed toward the corner booth where Jack was now throwing appetizers at the miniature hologram. “Harby’s here, too.”

“You know who I haven't seen?” Garrus said, attempting to rescue the Spectre from a particularly odd conversation. “Alenko.”

EDI turned slightly, addressing the Turian. “He is not here, he went the other way.”

Clearly surprised, Garrus sputtered, “What?!”

“How do you even know that?” Shepard asked, reaching for her pint, but only wrapping her hand around the frosty glass.

“It is my job to monitor the squad’s status and to gather intelligence on the field.”

“But for you to be here and him to be _there_ …” The Spectre took a long swig from her beer, clearly shaken up by the news and trying to make sense of the information. “Sure, he was an ass on Horizon and an even bigger one on Mars, but still…”

Stunned by the revelation, the Turian nodded his head slowly. “He was a fool at times, but I never thought he was so bad that he’d go…” Unable to say the words, his voice just faded off.

Steeling her nerves, the Spectre took a deep breath and said the phrase that she and Garrus had been avoiding. “That he’d go to hell.”

EDI adjusted her feet so they were shoulder width apart, then clasped her hands behind her back. “The Major did not go to hell.”

“But you said he went ‘the other way’!” the Spectre yelled accusingly.

“That is correct. He did go the other way. Over there.” EDI pointed to another bar down the beach which looked like a large oval building made out of wood. “He called it a Nordic Mead Hall. He and Admiral Anderson expressed their excitement at the variety of fermented beverages they would be able to consume.”

“I guess the afterlife has different bars for different tastes.” Shepard frowned, then shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly. “Makes me wonder where the others are.”

Garrus ate another pretzel. “Thane is probably in some desert paradise with his wife.”

“And Grunt is somewhere head-butting his way across the battlefield,” the Spectre mused, smiling at the thought.

“Before you arrived,” EDI said, “I spoke with Mordin Solus.”

Bracing her feet on the rungs of the stool, the Spectre stood up and from her higher vantage point surveyed the bar for the Salarian. “You did? Where is he?”

“He walked toward the beach after sharing his intention to collect shells and run tests,” EDI replied. “I have been unable to determine the purpose for such analysis.”

Shepard chuckled and sat back down on the bar stool. “Don’t think too hard on it, EDI. It’s just so he doesn’t get bored.”

EDI hesitated as though dubious of the Spectre’s claim. Finally, she said, “I see.”

“Remember when we were being chased by the thresher maws on Tuchanka?” Garrus asked. “Mordin told Wrex that the metal in the truck was an excellent iron supplement for the maw's diet. That was a good time. Scary, but a good time.”

“Right,” Shepard said, “then Wreav had to go test the theory.” She never told Wrex, but she had an extreme dislike for his brother. “He was such a tool.”

“You know who the real tool was…”

The Turian and human looked at each other, then in unison they said, “Udina.”

Frowning in disgust, Shepard said, “There’s probably a special place in the afterlife for people like that.”

“Lieutenant Bastard Kai Leng better be there, too.”

“Agreed.” To get her mind off the Cerberus assassin, the Spectre looked out across the marina watching the various boats sway softly in the water. Then, something shiny caught the periphery of her eye. She zeroed in on the location of the sparkly distraction which was located in some sort of small outdoor booth at the far corner of the bar’s patio overlooking the bay.

“Hey, Garrus,” she said, pointing towards the outdoor kiosk, “what’s that? A frozen drink bar?”

The Turian chuckled. “Oh, that?” he said innocently with just a playful hint of sinister woven in his voice.

Raising an irritated eyebrow, the Spectre replied, “Yes… _that_.”

“Well, it’s really quite interesting. You should check it out when you can. I think you’d find it very… revealing.”

“Garrus… just what the hell is it?”

“That, my human friend, is the Shepard souvenir stand-”

“The WHAT?!”

“-where you can buy everything related to Commander Shepard, first human Spectre. From socks and caps, to VI's. Lots of different colored hoodies. It even has those little wiggly head dolls. But the real gems are the _armor_ replicas.” Garrus took a sip of his beer, his undisguised amusement radiating off him in waves. “Oh, and it is run by…”

Shepard raised her right hand interrupting the Turian. Once he mentioned the armor replica, she knew. Sighing heavily, she answered, “Legion.”

Garrus patted her on the back. “Exactly.” Before the Spectre could ask any more questions, he added, “How he gets all that merchandise, where it comes from? Well, that's anyone's guess, but you know how adaptable the Geth are.”

Rolling her eyes in exasperation, Shepard reached out for her pint and took a long draw. “Bobbleheads,” she muttered to herself. “ _Really_? Why not an action figure? Or trading cards? A commemoritive mug?”

Just at that very moment, two Asari walked by the bar and Garrus turned his head, his eyes following as they walked toward the patio overlooking the beach. “Shepard… isn’t that Rila? And the other Asari with her… doesn’t she look a lot like Samara?”

“It is unlikely to be the Justicar,” EDI interjected. Until that moment her attention had been fixated on Legion’s souvenir stand. “Before being rendered non-functional, I intercepted a communiqué between Councilor Tevos and Aria T’Loak regarding Samara and her daughter, Falere.”

The Spectre’s green eyes were alight with curiosity. “Really? What was said?”

EDI closed the distance to stand directly behind the human and Turian’s bar stools, ensuring their interaction remained private. Then she began to speak, repeating the overheard conversation verbatim, and mimicking the voices of the two Asari in an eerily precise way.

_“Aria! How am I supposed to tell a Justicar that the whole of Asari culture no longer has need of her services or her Code?”_

_“Don’t twist your tentacles, Councilor. It’s simple. You tell the high and mighty centurion that her moral high ground is no longer a perch from where she gets to judge the rest of us. It’s outdated, outmoded and outclassed.”_

_“You can’t be serious! The Justicar, along with her daughter, are coming here to meet with me. A JUSTICAR and A DEMON OF THE NIGHT WINDS! HERE! WITH ME! ... Stop laughing! Aria… stop laughing this instant or Goddess help me, I will burn the leather outfit. “_

_“… You wouldn’t dare.”_

_“You will never see me in that lingerie-”_

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa… Stop!” Shepard said, waving both her hands as though swatting at a swarm of mosquitos. “Just. Stop. That was really _, really_ creepy… and I don’t want to know about the private lives of any more Asari.” She glanced quickly over at the table that Benezia shared with the Illusive Man. “One was more than enough.”

“Are you positive, Shepard?” EDI asked, her voice having returned to its normal sultry tone. “I have extensive communications between Shiala and Sha’ira archived in my-”

“NO! Please stop talking! I don’t want to know about them either.” The Spectre took a deep breath as though to gather her bearings, then her eyes narrowed perceptibly. “What I _want_ to know is why the hell you have a recording of a highly personal, encrypted communiqué from a member of the Citadel Council.”

Ever quick with an answer, EDI replied, “Have you forgotten that Liara was directing her entire network on the ship? Do you think anything happened in there that I was not aware of, Shepard?” Moving conspiratorially close to the Spectre, she whispered, “I saw everything. I heard everything.”

Shepard blinked. “Everything?”

“ _Everything_.” EDI took a step back standing ramrod straight with her hands behind her back. “That was not a joke.”

Noticing that the Spectre’s cheeks were turning as red as her hair, Garrus laughed.

Then, EDI said, “I have correspondence between you and Tali’Zorah, as well, Mr. Vakarian.”

Garrus cleared his throat and then took a drink of his beer. “Well, that’s embarrassing.”

With a somewhat frenzied expression, the Spectre quickly scanned the room, then she spotted Rila and the other Asari who were standing next to each other and appeared to be in the midst of a friendly, animated conversation. “You got my back, Garrus?”

“Of course,” the Turian replied sounding insulted.

The Spectre downed the remaining beer, then set the empty glass on the bar. “Good. If that Samara look-a-like comes after me, don't do anything. Just turn around and go the other way. I think it's time to see what's up Morinth's... um… sleeves.”

“That’s Morinth?” Garrus asked, discretely scrutinizing the Asari from his bar stool.

“Yep.”

“Didn’t she try to kill you?”

“Along with half of the other bar patrons. What’s your point?”

“No point. But since she’s an _Ardat-Yakshi_ who wants to suck out your soul through your eyes, maybe if she tries to kill you again you could message me. We could even have a code word… like _help_.”

“Garrus, I'm already dead, so what could possibly go wrong?”

“Knowing you, anything.” Garrus ate a pretzel. “But you have a point, so have fun. If anyone asks, I’ll tell them you’re indisposed.”

The Spectre left EDI and Garrus at the bar, and headed toward Rila and Morinth, watching them as she crossed the distance to where they stood. Even from afar, she could tell that Morinth’s behavior and bearing seemed different than from when they first met on Omega. In place of the predatory sexiness, there was a cute, girly innocence surrounding her. Even her laughter radiated a youthful playfulness instead of sultry innuendo.

When she was a few feet away from the pair, the Spectre voiced a hesitant greeting. “Morinth?”

“Shepard!” Morinth said excitedly, her eyes lighting up in recognition. She whispered something to her sister, Rila, who smiled graciously, then turned around and headed toward the bar.

“You remember.”

“Of course. How could I forget the woman who helped my mother end my life?”

Self-consciously rubbing her neck, the Spectre said, “Um… yeah… well, when you put it that way…”

“Oh, don’t worry, Commander. I’m not upset. I’m actually happy to see you. The disease no longer defines my actions, and I can finally… be me.”

This new version of Morinth exuded a fresh vital energy. Intrigued by the change, Shepard asked, “And you are?”

“Well, first, you can start by calling me Mirala.” The Asari stepped next to the human, coyly invading her personal space. “A new name for a new appreciation of the beauty that surrounds me.”

“Well, Mirala, this is beautiful location.”

Smiling innocently, the Asari said, “I’m not speaking of the scenery right now.”

The Spectre cleared her throat self-consciously. “Oh.”

“Shepard!”

When she heard the shockingly familiar voice bellowing out from behind her, the Spectre quickly spun around to face the unexpected newcomer. “Liara!” she said nervously with a hint of bewilderment ringing through her voice. “You're here?!”

“Of course, I am,” the researcher fumed. Her eyes narrowed in irritation as her focus shifted rapidly between the Spectre and the Ardat-Yakshi.

“But… the last I knew, you were alive and well...”

“I was. But then you died... and I was putting your name on the memorial wall... and I got a bad feeling...”

“A bad feeling?”

“YES! A BAD FEELING! And now here I am and here you are with that... that... _space succubus_!”

Looking confused, Shepard dumbly repeated, “Space succubus?”

“YES!” Liara stated hotly, then captured the lobe of Shepard’s right ear between her thumb and index finger, and proceeded to lead her toward the beach, away from Mirala. “You are _never_ leaving my sight again!”

The former Ardat-Yakshi watched the whole scene in stunned silence. She still had that same expression when Rila returned a few minutes later and handed her a colorful drink adorned with lots of different fruit wedges.

Garrus chuckled as he watched from his perch at the bar while Shepard was being dragged off to the beach by an enraged Liara. And when the miniature red hologram of Harbinger showed up in Shepard’s bar stool, he wasn’t surprised.

_“I REQUIRE AN OCTUPLE RYNCOL.”_

“You sure?” the Turian asked. “That sounds potent.”

_“I AM UNSTOPPABLE.”_

Garrus nodded to the bartender who returned a few seconds later with a holographic mug containing a holographic dark blue liquid and placed it in front of the tiny former Reaper.

“Shepard once told me that you’re not drunk enough if you can lie on the floor without holding on to something.” The Turian smiled. “That’s my gauge.”

_“YOU ARE IGNORANT, WE ARE KNOWING.”_ Then a small red holographic tube extended out of Harbinger and into the holographic glass. Within a few seconds the holographic blue liquid was gone.

Nibbling on a pretzel, Garrus watched as Harbinger’s hologram started to shimmer. “Hey,” he asked, “you okay?”

_“I AM THE HARBINGER OF YOUR ASCENDANCE.”_

With each flash Harbinger’s color shifted until it settled as a shade of dark purple.

“You sure you’re okay?”

_“I- I AM… RELEASING CONTROL… OF THIS FORM.”_

Then, the hologram disappeared.

Garrus shrugged his shoulders and ate another pretzel. “I did try to warn you.”


End file.
